


A Kind of Understanding

by Katzedecimal



Series: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor... What, son? [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Friendship, Gen, His Last Vow Spoilers, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has another little talk with his biggest fan and discovers that Anderson is a bit more observant these days.   </p>
<p>Set in early HLV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kind of Understanding

_His is a dark and sorry plight,_ Phillip thought. He'd paused at the door to gaze at the ball of consulting detective curled up on the sofa with his back to the room. He shook his head and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "You awake?" he called softly. 

"What would you do if I said 'No?'" 

Phillip stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, "I brought it."

Sherlock slowly rolled over and uncurled. As the shadows played over his face, the lines of exhaustion made him look even more miserable. He took the laptop wordlessly and gestured for Phillip to sit down. "It's safe," he said and pointed to a small pile of broken electronics on the coffee table, "I found all of his bugs."

Phillip stared at the pile, "He has _surveillance_ on you?? Who the hell was that guy? He said he was your brother?"

"He is," Sherlock said, "Elder by seven years and considerably more in terms of honing collosal dickishness. He'll have surveillance on you for a little while to make sure you actually stay shut up. Ah, just as I thought. He never makes idle threats, you see - he'd have had his people plant this before you actually got home. It's why I always turned my laptop off. Well.. and seldom used my own laptop." Finally the lack of response attracted Sherlock's attention and he looked up.

Phillip was staring at him, just... staring at him. "I take back everything I have **ever** said or thought about you, you poor, poor man." Sherlock started to grin. "You _grew up_ with that?"

"Obviously."

"Did no one ever tell him that _1984_ was a work of speculative fiction and not **actually** an instruction manual for how to behave when a younger sibling is born?"

"I really don't think he would have cared to listen if they had."

"Jesus! He has people and they were in my flat? What else did they do?"

"Probably bugged it. I can stop by later if you really want, but I'd advise leaving them for a bit. Just don't talk about it or do anything too stupid. Eventually he'll get bored and conclude you're too ordinary to worry about."

"Jesus," Phillip swore again. 

"There," Sherlock handed the laptop back, "Cleaned up. His people are only clever up to a point."

Phillip gave the laptop a hairy-eyeball look, "I don't really want to know what was on it, do I."

"Nope."

"So how does **he** get access to stuff like that?"

Sherlock grinned wolfishly, "Now you're thinking. He doesn't, not directly, but he does know where to find people who can find it."

"Jeez, isn't that just feeding the market, too... And you grew up with that kind of person, that explains a lot."

"Indeed. What else have you brought?". 

Phillip picked up the paper bag and rustled it nervously, "Ah, well... It's about the other matter..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped back on the couch, "Oh god here we go again... It was for a case!"

Phillip held up a finger, "I actually believe that. I **have** seen some pretty bizarre undercover work, you know. I had the friend of a friend of a friend do a little Googling at a net cafe and I do know how that industry works."

"So?" Sherlock's voice was brittle. 

"So, I didn't see them offering any kind of understanding." Sherlock said nothing. Phillip sighed. He looked at Sherlock earnestly, "Look, maybe they can't see it but I can. You came home to find this big mythology grown up about you and everything's different, Doctor Watson's gone off and got married, everyone wants you to take their case but what's left for _you?_ What are _you_ getting out of it? For you, the torture hasn't ended, it's still going on." Sherlock tugged his dressing gown a little higher up his shoulder, a muscle in his cheek twitching tight for a moment. "So maybe you saw an opportunity to turn the pain off for a bit and you took it, I get that," Phillip said softly. He put the bag onto the coffee table and pushed it towards him, "So I brought you this."

Sherlock looked at the contents and his lip twitched, "You think I'm a poet or something?"

"Or something," Phillip grinned, "You do a lot of thinking and imagining scenarios. This leaves you very lucid and it stimulates the creative centres. And it's legal. They can complain all they want but that's all they can do. Other than yell at me for enabling you, of course."

Sherlock grunted. He set the package back down and glared at Phillip. "Why are you doing this, Phillip?"

"I know self-medicating when I see it. To be honest, it's one of the reasons I got the sack."

"I mean, why the sudden turn-around, it's like you're a completely different character! You used to hate me, why have you suddenly decided to be my number one fan?"

Phillip sat back and pushed his hands through his hair with a heavy sigh. "After.. what happened, I had a lot of time to think. I realised that we always started it, Sally and I. Basically I realised that I never really gave you a chance. So, I told myself that if you were alive and if I ever got the opportunity to make it right, I would try to be better and give you a proper chance and do everything I could to try to mend things."

"You certainly have an original way of apologising," Sherlock commented, "And what are your conclusions?"

"Well, you're a lot nicer and a lot more forgiving than I would have thought," Phillip said. When Sherlock flexed an eyebrow, he clarified, "Well, you're calling me by my first name and you offered to scan my laptop. I call that nice."

Sherlock snorted and stared up at the ceiling. "As inappropriately timed as the skeleton stunt was, I did actually appreciate the intent." Phillip risked a nervous smile, which faded under Sherlock's abrupt glare, "But that's not the only reason you're hanging around. You used to be a forensic scientist, now you're a security guard. You miss forensics and you're bored. You're hoping that if I like you enough, I might take you with me on cases."

Phillip spread his hands helplessly, "Have you ever _been_ a security guard?"

"Only as a cover for a case. It was mind-numbing."

"Yes."

"Stupefyingly boring."

"Yes!"

"I almost resorted to watching _Survivor._ "

" _Yes!_ "

"You have a supervisory position in one of the largest security firms in London."

"...Yes?"

"You have access to nearly all of the key cards and security cameras."

"Yes."

"Which means you are now actually in a position to be very useful."

Phillip looked slightly relieved. "That helps."

"Mm." Sherlock looked at him and cocked an eyebrow, "What was it that led you to conclude that I might still be alive?"

Phillip sighed again, "They started pegging you as a Hero Syndrome type of criminal. That's when it started not making sense. Sure, you had the arrogance and the condescending attitude, but you _never_ took credit for any of the crimes you solved, you always let Greg and the rest of us take the credit, even me. If you had faked them, why wouldn't you take the credit? And when the media cottoned onto you, you came out wearing that hat, only you never wore a hat before, not even in winter. You don't like hats, so why **that** hat? Because **that** hat is a hat that says 'look at the hat.' You wore it as a diversion, but if you wanted the spotlight, why would you do that?" Sherlock still said nothing so Phillip pressed on, "And, you've always been a very private person, so why such a public suicide? You..." his eyes flicked towards the package, "You could have overdosed at home, you didn't have to jump off a roof. Why jump off a roof? And that's when the little voice said, 'Because you can survive a jump off a roof if you have the right equipment.'" Still Sherlock said nothing. "So then I started looking at it the other way: What if this Moriarty bloke did exist? What if he really was out to get you? If he wanted you out of the way, why wouldn't he just have you killed? And that's when I realised, if I knew that someone wanted me dead, the best way to get out of it would be a fake suicide. After that, it all made sense. You were friends with Molly Hooper at the Barts morgue, she could have faked your paperwork. It had to be public so Moriarty would see and know and it had to be Barts so you could get under cover fast before anyone else could make a verification. So I looked into ways of surviving a fall off a roof and it turns out, there are a lot of them." 

"As I said, thirteen possible scenarios."

Phillip nodded. "And... I saw you. Well, I glimpsed someone who looked an awful lot like you, I'm pretty sure now that it was you. Heathrow, about a month later. I was heading off for a trip. You - or someone who looked like you - were in a waiting lounge wearing a hoodie and jeans. Your face was partly hidden but I could see your mouth - that cupid's bow is pretty distinctive. You were staring at your phone and you looked sad, really sad. I suspect you were looking at a picture, probably Doctor Watson. I thought about saying something but at the time, I hadn't really worked it out yet."

"It's best you didn't. I was on my way to New York, waiting for a private jet, my first leg of dismantling Moriarty's network." Sherlock tipped his head thoughtfully, "Well, if there's one good thing to come out of this whole fiasco, it's you've started using your brain. Well done, Phillip. Mostly wrong on the particulars, but the conclusions are correct." Phillip risked another nervous smile. Sherlock flicked a finger at the package, "And thanks for this."

"I hope it helps," Phillip said as he got up, "Good luck with your case. And I want to hear about the New York story if you're able to tell it."

Sherlock flicked a hand in a lazy wave as Phillip saw himself out, then looked at the absinthe kit again.


End file.
